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The bisy larke, messager of day.
Geoffrey Chaucer
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Geoffrey Chaucer
Died: 1400
Died: October 25
Astrologer
Linguist
Lyricist
Philosopher
Poet
Politician
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London
England
Chaucer
Geoffrey Chaucer
More quotes by Geoffrey Chaucer
Remember in the forms of speech comes change Within a thousand years, and words that then Were well esteemed, seem foolish now and strange And yet they spake them so, time and again, And thrived in love as well as any men And so to win their loves in sundry days, In sundry lands there are as many ways.
Geoffrey Chaucer
The smylere with the knyf under the cloke.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
Geoffrey Chaucer
He is gentle that doeth gentle deeds.
Geoffrey Chaucer
If no love is, O God, what fele I so? And if love is, what thing and which is he? If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo? If it be wikke, a wonder thynketh me
Geoffrey Chaucer
The greatest scholars are not usually the wisest people.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Who then may trust the dice, at Fortune's throw?
Geoffrey Chaucer
Pitee renneth soone in gentil herte.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Soun is noght but air ybroken, And every speche that is spoken, Loud or privee, foul or fair, In his substaunce is but air For as flaumbe is but lighted smoke, Right so soun is air ybroke.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.
Geoffrey Chaucer
This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we been pilgrymes, passynge to and fro.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Nowhere so busy a man as he there was And yet he seemed busier than he was.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Fie on possession, But if a man be vertuous withal.
Geoffrey Chaucer
With emptie hands men may no haukes lure.
Geoffrey Chaucer
The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting.
Geoffrey Chaucer
Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.
Geoffrey Chaucer
How potent is the fancy! People are so impressionable, they can die of imagination.
Geoffrey Chaucer
That of all the floures in the mede, Thanne love I most these floures white and rede, Suche as men callen daysyes in her toune.
Geoffrey Chaucer
